Love You Always
by Wolfram von Bielefeld
Summary: What is Death but a cruel trick of fate? Something that makes us understand and appreciate what we have, after its already gone. Yuuram. Death fic.


_Disclaimer: I own nothing!  
_

_Notes: It is advised that you listen to/think about the lyrics to Your Guardian Angel before reading this, it makes it more emotional._

"_Death is a cruel fate designed to make us appreciate what we had before it left"—me._

Death has a way of making you realize how much you truly cherish something, and love it with the deepest devotion, before it rips it out of your hands, its gone, slipping through your fingers as you fight to hold on, to have one more moment together, to be able to whisper all the sweet nothings into their ear that you never had the chance –nor audacity-- to before.

Death is not easy…and its certainly not painless…Death is a grueling process that leaves everyone in its wake a bleeding mess, though not always physically visible, Death's wound is always present in the hearts of everyone it reaches out to touch.

The night that Yuuri watched Wolfram's already alabaster skin pale was probably the longest night of his life. Wolfram had deserved better then to die on the cold, dirty forest floor. He deserved better then to die knowing that Yuuri had never had the courage to tell him how much he had loved him. Wolfram deserved more then to die as young as he did. And Wolfram deserved more then to die taking a sword to the heart instead of allowing it to graze Yuuri even by an inch.

That night still plagues Yuuri's mind…the way Wolfram looked up at him stubbornly, blood and mud matted in his blonde locks, his gorgeous emerald eyes, the very ones Yuuri could stay lost in forever, glistening dimly. Everyone could see that he was fading…that the spark in his eyes wouldn't last through the night, that his heart was punctured and bleeding, barely getting by with the weak pumps it offered. And yet looking into those eyes, Yuuri's world blurred, and his tears blocked his view. He couldn't see Wolfram's face anymore, couldn't see the peaceful look adorning it.

Yuuri had never wanted anything more in his life then for the world to stop its blur, if only for a few moments, if only so that Yuuri could looking into those emerald eyes once more and convey as much as he could, so that he whisper to the blonde cherub how sorry he was that he hadn't been good enough. And just as Yuuri was readying to tell him just that, blur or no blur, he felt a weak tugging on his sleeve.

Yuuri looked down immediately, the tears finally falling, leaving his world a little clearer, clear enough so that he could see the weak look in Wolfram's eyes as he tried to smile weakly, a thin trail of blood trickling down his translucent skin from his plump and now pale pink lips from suppressed coughing. "I-I…love…you…Yuuri…a-always-s…"

And suddenly the spark disappeared from his eyes and they went blank. He wasn't fighting it anymore; he was becoming as cold as the forest floor below them. Yuuri grasped onto his unresponsive hand tightly, holding onto it as if it could anchor Wolfram to him, as if just by holding it tightly, he could keep Wolfram with them for just a few more minutes so that he could tell him that he loved him…loved his so much…that he could push Wolfram out of the way of the sword that wouldn't have punctured him nearly as badly as it did Wolfram. "W-Wolfram? Wolfram…stay with me…Wolfram!" Yuuri blinked the tears away, placing his palm against the colder boy's cheek, feeling the mud and cold sweat mingling on his palm, and everything that was _Wolfram _fading beneath his finger tips.

Wolfram was gone…anyone with their eyes open could see that. And yet, that didn't stop Conrad, who had remained stonily silent through the entire ordeal, from checking for a pulse, hoping in vain to feel a dull throbbing. But the only thing that meant his eager finger tips was cold flesh…and nothing more…

Their fiery blonde spark was extinguished…

The funeral had been the hardest part…almost as hard as loosing him in the first place. He had been buried with a knitted plush that Yuuri had never known he kept with him at all times, one that Gwendal had knitted for him when he was still too young to understand what it was. He left them wearing his military uniform, his scuffed boots chosen in favor of the other pairs, his sword buckled at his side like a comfort blanket…

…and then they had started to put him in the ground. It had taken physical restraint to keep Yuuri from leaping at the ones who tried to take his Wolf away from him, the ones who wanted to separate them. And when he had tried to take action, the only response he got was a firm hand on his shoulder and a sodden Conrad shaking his head slightly, his eyes watery as he watched his baby brother become no more then a memory of the person he had once been. He watched Celi sob on the ground by the patch of Beautiful Wolfram by the tomb stone and he stared at Gwendal as he bent to place his hand on the mound of earth that now separated them.

Wolfram was no more…

Yuuri had no other thoughts besides a weak '_I love you, too…_'

Yuuri still slept on the left side of the bed as opposed to the middle, leaving a spot empty for a boy who would never return. He still kept the crisp blue uniforms, now covered in dust, ready for their wearer to return to adorn them once more. And Yuuri still placed his pajamas next to the silly pink nightgown that Wolfram had insisted on wearing next to his own pajamas every morning.

And still, years later, Yuuri visits Wolfram's final resting place every day, greeting him with a hello, and whispering his love to his Wolfram before he left…

And sometimes he tried to recall, with some difficulty, the fading memory of Wolfram mumbling that he loved him. And he regrets choosing Wolfram's last moments as the ones to force out of his mind.

Now, a graying old man, Yuuri sits in bed, coughing roughly, imagining Wolfram, the eternal symbol of beauty and youth, calling him a wimpy king for staying bed at such a late hour, and calling him a cheater for avoiding him thus far. His aged eyes smiled into space as he imagined that his fiancée was sitting next to him in the bed, arms crossed and 'humph'-ing at Yuuri, clad in his frilly pink nightgown.

The memories had not faded for Yuuri in all those years, in all those long nights in which Yuuri had tossed and turned at night, seeking out the warm body that should've been next to his. All the arguments were fresh on his mind as he thought them over with fondness. Behavior that, in his younger days, he had deemed as stubborn and bratty transforming in front of aged eyes into gestures of devotion and love.

Yuuri had learned a lot about Wolfram now that he was gone…had learned so much that would've benefited them both had he knew them before hand. But age had taught him something, you can spend your whole life regretting the things that you should've done, buts only what you _do _do that counts.

Wolfram's death had caused many grievances and short comings within the walls of Blood Pledge Castle, and as Yuuri lay there, thinking over this, another coughing spasm hit him and he knew that it would be his time soon to join his love in the clouds. So he lay back on the bed, making sure that there was enough room for Wolfram, and slid his eyes shut, slowly fading with a smile on his face and an '_I love you, Wolfram, always._' on his lips.

_Just so you know, I really cried writing this…_

_REVIEW!_


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